La Belle et la Bête
by JustBella
Summary: Set in 1800's France. Christine's father goes missing on his way to the Paris Opera house. When she finds him trapped inside an old castle by a mysterious masked man, she offers to take his place.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome! This is my first fanfiction for Phantom of the Opera! (Yay!)**

 **This is definitely more of a fast pace chapter. This chapter especially will draw some comparisons to Beauty and the Beast, but future chapters will not draw nearly as many comparisons.**

 **I hope you like it.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **.**

Nestled in the North of France was a small village just on the outskirts of Paris. Although small in numbers, the town thrived. Shops lined up the center of the town, glistening from years of being well taken care of. Brown cobblestone lined the walkways as people bustled around, from shop to shop.

Tucked into the corner of several stores was a small music shop. A place very easily missed unless someone was specifically looking for it. Inside the quaint little store, instruments of all kind lined the walls and floor. The walls were painted a soft blue and stood out against the dark wood floor. A glass display case stood along the left side of the room, holding the more valuable and harder to find instruments. And behind the display case with her nose buried in yet another book was a Miss Christine Daaé. A young woman of twenty and one, she was average in height, with long curly chestnut brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a smile that was never perfectly straight.

So absorbed was she in her book that she failed to hear the chime of the door opening. It wasn't until the gentleman cleared his throat that she finally looked up from her book. Gustave Daae gave her a knowing smile. "If you practiced as much as you read, you would be a true aficionado by now!"

Christine let out a small chuckle. "I wished I had the patience to improve. Five years of lessons and I still have a hard time telling the treble and bass clef apart."

Gustave smiled, his eyes wrinkling in the corners. He was a tall, thin man, with curly grey hair and eyes the same shade as Christine's. "At least you have the voice of an angel. I don't know what I'd do if my only child didn't have a love of music as I do."

Christine placed a scrap of paper in her book before setting it down on the counter. "It's your love of music that makes me love it so. You are truly playing for God when you play the violin. You're going to do well at the audition tomorrow! I just know the Royal Opera will hire you! They'd be a fool not to."

"You flatter me child." Gustave said. "It's starting to get dark and I say it's time to go home." They made a quick job of closing up the shop and slowly made their way to the small cottage at the edge of the village.

* * *

 **xXx**

 **.**

It was early afternoon when Gustave Daae left for Paris. They hugged and before he left, Christine presented him with a scarf. "For luck," she said, standing on her toes to wrap it around his neck.

Gustave kissed his daughter on her forehead. "I'm certain to do well now. I'll miss you."

Christine stayed outside until her father's horse disappeared over the hill.

Although overcast, it was still a lovely day. Gustave wrapped his cloak around himself as the cool October breeze nipped at his face. His journey was slow but steady. He only stopped twice, hoping to make it to Paris before dark. Unfortunately as the day progressed and the hours ticked by, he found himself coming upon a dark realization.

Gustave sighed into his palms, he'd been riding for too long. The darkness had crept up on him sooner than he'd expected. He hated to admit it, but he was lost. He'd been to Paris years ago, _could the woods really have changed so much since then?_

Thunder rumbled above his head as he meandered through the narrow pathway. He felt small droplets of rain on his shoulder and then the sky seemed to drop, soaking Gustave within seconds.

He spurred the horse on, searching for a tree large enough to find shelter under. It was then that he saw it. In the distance. A castle.

 _How very odd,_ he thought. The last time he'd been to Paris he hadn't seen a castle. No one in the village had ever mentioned it's existence. _Surely they would have..._

It was a mixture of curiosity and the need for shelter that he followed the winding path up to a large wrought iron gate. Rusted with age, it towered above him as he dismounted his horse. He pushed hard against the gate not expecting it to budge, but it swung open easily, almost causing him to fall as he tumbled past the gate.

He walked slowly across the path, holding the horse's reins in his right hand. There were no lights directing his path as he blindly walked towards the large wooden doors. Fumbling for the knocker, he gave it two raps against the door. No one answered- he tried it again.

With a creaking sound, the door slowly swung inward to reveal a tall, thin woman. She wore all black, the same shade as her hair and her wide hazel eyes stared at him in shock. "Monsieur, how did you find this place?"

"I found myself lost in the woods when I came upon your palace." He coughed, "I know this is an unwelcome intrusion, but I find myself asking for shelter from this bitter weather. I do not have much but I will pay you what I have." He coughed again.

The woman's frown deepened, her eyebrows knitting together. "I'm sorry Monsieur, but it's forbidden by the Master of this estate. You must leave now and tell no one of this place."

She started to shut the door, but Gustave shoved his foot into the frame. "Madame, please! I am lost and have nowhere else to go for the night."

"I'm truly sorry Mons-" she started, when a much younger voice sounded behind her.

"Mother! Can't you see he's freezing to death." A short blonde girl peaked her head around the woman's shoulder. The girl grabbed him by his coat sleeve and ushered him inside, against her mother's wishes.

The girl ignored her mother's protests as she pulled him into the dimly lit sitting room. A fire in the center of the room was the only light in the room. It was a large golden room with three large plush red sofas placed strategically around the room. The girl took his cloak, guiding him to one of the sofas.

"Meg, this is completely unacceptable! He must leave at once. Think of the consequences if _he_ finds out about this!"

Meg stared at her mother a few seconds before speaking. "You would let someone die? You'd let an innocent man freeze to death?"

The woman sighed. "No I wouldn't do that." She let a tiny smile escape for a split second. She turned, addressing him. "You are not to wonder from this room. I'll have the servants fetch you something to eat. I'll get a-"

There was a sudden chill in the room as the fire died, bathing the room in darkness. Gustave heard a low growl in his ear and then suddenly something grabbed him by his throat and hoisted him high into the air.

"What an unwelcome surprise." The voice growled, deep and guttural. "What are you doing here?"

Gustave gasped against the hand. "I got lost in the woods. I needed shelter from the storm."

The man gave a low humourless chuckle. "So you thought you'd take advantage of my hospitality?" The hand squeezed tighter on his throat. "I don't take kindly to intruders. I'm afraid you'll have to be my guest….permanently."

The hand dropped Gustave to the floor. He barely had time to take in a breath before the same hands grabbed his arms and roughly dragged him through the palace. "You foolish, stupid man."

The man led him deep down into the cellars of the palace, through the still dark halls, and into a small wrought iron prison. The man shoved Gustave inside, knocking him to the ground and shut the door tightly behind him.

"You're a monster." Gustave said through clenched teeth as the man started to walk away.

The man chuckled darkly, lighting a torch on the wall. Taking the torch in his hand, he walked up close to the bars of the prison, his face illuminated by the flickering flame. Looking upon his captor for the first time, a cry of horror rang through the hollow room. "Indeed I am."

* * *

 **xXx**

 **.**

Christine paced nervously inside the police station. It had been more than three days since she'd seen her father. Surely he would have been back by now or at the very least received a letter saying he was alright.

One of the officers approached her. "We've just heard from the Opera House. They said your father never showed up for his audition."

She felt tears spring to her eyes. "He wouldn't have missed his audition for anything officer. Something must of happened to him on the way there. There was a storm that night."

"I've talked to some of my boys and we're planning on putting together a search party for the morning. It's going to get dark soon and we'll need daylight to search properly."

She sighed, forlornly. "Thank you for taking my case." Christine took her time getting back to the cottage. If only they'd known about the storm, maybe he would have been able to postpone his trip for the night and then perhaps he never would have gone missing.

So focused was she on her thoughts, that she didn't see her father's horse until she smacked directly into his flank. "Sorelli? What are you doing here?" Dread surged through Christine. Sorelli was a loyal horse, there was no way he would have abandoned her father - - unless something had happened to him.

 _Damn the search party!_ She thought. _I'll find him myself._ She pulled Sorelli into the small barn out back, unsaddled him and made sure he had plenty of hay before grabbing her own horse and saddling her up.

Inside she changed into her riding boots and threw on her cloak, then grabbed a small satchel, filling it with things she might need. Once she was set, she mounted her horse and rode off towards the woods.

She watched the ground carefully as her horse treaded lightly through the mud. It hadn't rained since her father had disappeared, so she hoped she'd be able to find some hoofprints.

Christine did find hoofprints, several in fact, which caused her mood to plummet. She had no way of telling which were the right prints to follow. How could she possibly be able to distinguish the prints apart? She wasn't a detective or an officer; she didn't know how to track someone. What made her think she'd be able to find him.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a set of hoofprints that ventured off the path. She moved the horse closer to the hoofprints and saw more prints leading down a non existent path. Spurring the horse forward she followed the prints for at least half an hour before she spotted something hanging off one of the lower branches. She reached up in the saddle and pulled down a long red scarf….the scarf she'd given her father.

He had to be somewhere nearby! She started calling out to him, looking carefully through the foliage as she made her way further down the path. He was close, he just had to be nearby.

The sun was setting when she noticed the palace at the end of the non existent path she was on. It was large, several stories high and in the dying light of day the palace almost looked gold. She neared the large wrought iron gate and dismounted her horse.

Grabbing the horse's reins, she walked to the closed gates, noticing part of the iron in the center twisted into a rose. The gates creaked loudly when she opened them. She walked down the long stone path to the large wooden doors.

Reaching a tentative hand out towards the door, she gave three quiet knocks on the door. The door cracked open slightly and a blonde girl close to Christine's age peaked her head out. Her face drained of color when she saw Christine. "You're related to him aren't you?"

"Who?" Christine said, hopeful. "Was he several inches taller then me and did he have a head full of grey hair and a blue riding coat on- like this one?" She pulled her cloak up for the girl to inspect.

The blonde girl licked her lips nervously. "Yes."

Christine's face flushed with relief. "Oh thank god! Is he alright? Can I see him?"

Looking over her shoulder, the girl made sure the hallway was clear, before ushering the girl inside, hushing Christine's protests about leaving the horse unattended.

"Be quiet, mademoiselle! He'll hear you." The girl led Christine down the hallway. "You won't be here long, your horse will be fine."

Christine tried to speak, but was hushed again by the girl. The blonde girl opened a set of doors that led down to the cellars. The cellar had a low ceiling and were covered in a reddish-brown walked for several minutes before coming across the last door at the end of the hall. The girl pulled out a key and twisted it into the lock, pushing the door open for Christine.

Eying the girl nervously, Christine walked into the dimlit room. The first thing she noticed was the iron bars that protruded out of the corner of the walls, creating a crude prison. Then she noticed the figure hunched in the corner. "Papa!" she cried, throwing herself against the bars. Gustave's head snapped up, staring up at his daughter with a mixture of disbelief and horror. He stood and rushed to her, grabbing her wrists through the iron.

"Get out of here!" He said hurriedly, shaking her wrists.

"What ha-." he cut her off.

"Christine listen to me. You need to leave now. Hurry before he comes back," he cried.

She stared at her father, tears covering her face. "No! I won't leave you. I'll get you out of here!"

"Christine go! Now, before he finds you."

"I believe it's already too late for that." A voice growled behind her. Christine whirled around, hitting her back sharply on the metal, hissing in pain.

"Get out." He growled, stalking towards her.

"W-what?" She whispered in shock.

He grabbed her wrist roughly, pulling her away from her father. "I said, get out." Looking up at his towering frame in horror, she noticed a white mask covering the right side of his face. His gold eyes almost looked yellow in the light.

Christine struggled in his grasp, reaching for her father. "No! I won't leave him. Let me go!"

He grabbed her roughly by her forearms and pulled her closer to him. "Get. Out. Now." He shook her with each word. "Don't make me change my mind." He shoved her towards the door and she tumbled to the floor, losing her balance.

"Wait!" She cried as he reached out to grab her. "Wait!" She took a deep breath, glancing briefly at her father before staring up at the masked man. "Take me instead."

"Christine, no!" her father cried.

He stopped reaching for her, a look of surprise on his face. ""You would trade your freedom for his?" The masked man asked, his voice losing its threatening tone. "You would do that?"

"Yes," her voice barely above a whisper. "If you let him go and promise not to hurt him, I'll stay."

Christine looked away from her father, ignoring his pleas.

"Deal." The man said, his expression unreadable. He turned to her father and unlocked the gate, pulling him outside. "You must leave and never return! Do not speak of me or of this place do you understand? If I get word that you're trying to plan some sort of rescue mission and believe me, I have informants everywhere, then I will find you and ki-"

"NO!" Christine yelled. "You said you wouldn't harm him."

The masked man growled, his face a foot from her father's. "If I find out that you are trying anything of the sort, then I will resort to unpleasant measures. Just remember that your daughter is here with me and what you do there, will reflect how she's treated here."

Gustave stared at his daughter, silent tears rolling down his face. The masked man leaned in, whispering in his ear. "It would also be wise to remember that I do have certain male desires and if you act against my wishes, I may not be able to hold those desires back. Do you understand?"

Horror washed over Gustave's face at the masked man's words. He nodded his head, unable to speak for fear of what he might say.

"Good," the man grumbled, shoving him out the door.

"Wait!" Christine cried as the door slammed shut in her face. "No!" She hit the door, yelling into the wood. "I didn't even get to say goodbye!" She banged on the door until her knuckles bled and then banged some more, until finally she fell to the ground, her hands covering her crying face.

Panic and dread gripped her body, causing her to shake. She let out a loud gasp, unable to hold back the tears. She was going to spend the rest of her life in here. Never knowing what happened to her father and she would never fall in love or get married. All her dreams about singing at the Opera house were shattered. She was going to die in this prison and no one but a monster would know.

* * *

 **:) Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm very pleased with the response my story received. I truly wasn't expecting anyone to comment on my story and I really appreciate you all taking the time to review or follow my story. It meant a lot to me, thank you!**

 **I'm also looking for a beta if anyone is willing or knows someone who would be willing to beta my story. I found some errors in my last chapter that had me throwing my hands in the air going "why!" …. _dramatization…. maybe_ …**

 **:)**

* * *

 **.**

 **Chapter Two**

 **.**

 _Panic and dread gripped her body, causing her to shake. She let out a loud gasp, unable to hold back the tears. She was going to spend the rest of her life in here. Never knowing what happened to her father and she would never fall in love or get married. All her dreams about singing at the Opera house were shattered. She was going to die in this prison and no one but a monster would know._

Christine was still hunched on the floor when the door opened. She flinched when she saw the masked man in front of her. "Get up." He said, his voice hard. When she didn't respond right away he sighed, annoyed, and hauled her up by her wrist.

Christine shivered against the man's cold, hard grasp. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing." He said, dragging her through the cellars. "As long as you obey my rules."

"And what might those rules be?" Her voice cracked.

"Since you're now my permanent guest, it's been _suggested_ by my servants to offer you a more comfortable abode. I don't care where you sleep, but if you disobey me, I have no problem throwing you back into the cellar. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He led her down the long ornate hallway and up the grand staircase. "Good. You're free to roam around, but you must never leave the palace and above all you must never enter my chambers."

Stopping in front of a large golden door, he pulled out a small key and unlocked the door, pushing it open. "After you." He said, mocking her with a cruel bow.

The room was unlike anything Christine had expected. White and silver wallpaper, high-beamed ceiling, and a large four-poster bed that on the left side of the room. There was even a velvet sofa facing a fireplace and a mahogany desk facing a large balcony that overlooked a beautiful garden. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

"Not what you were expecting?" He smirked, bringing her back to reality.

Her jaw tightened. It was her prison. A prison masquerading itself as something it could never be, a home.

If he saw her change in demeanor he didn't comment on it. "I shall leave you to your own devices, but you will join me for dinner. That is not a request." He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

She walked over to the bed, sinking down onto the silken sheets and leaned her head against the bedpost. She felt sick to her stomach. These events had transpired so quickly she hadn't known how to react, but now alone with her thoughts, she could only feel guilt for leaving her father and the trepidation and fear of her hazy future.

Her stomach growled in hunger. The last thing she wanted to do was have dinner with _him_. Anger surged through her. _The nerve of that man,_ she thought. _How dare he. He takes me for a prisoner and then expects me to dine with him - as if I'm his guest!_

She got up and started pacing the room. _I won't do it. I won't. I refuse to dine with him! That evil, vile man!_

It was a quarter to eight when one of the servants came to fetch her for dinner. The servant was a tall middle-age woman with black hair braided atop her head.

"Dinner is ready and the Master requests your presence." The woman stood to the side, waiting for Christine to follow her out the door.

Taking a deep breath Christine spoke calmly. "Tell him I'm not hungry and that I politely decline his offer." Her stomach growled in protest.

The woman's eyes widened with surprise. "Mademoiselle that is not a good idea. It is best to do as _he_ pleases."

"No, I will not meet the demands of a sick and twisted man." Christine shook her head.

"I advise you to change your mind. He is not someone you want to anger. Think of the consequences!" The woman begged.

"I am sorry, Madame, but I adamantly and vehemently refuse to go down to dinner." She almost regretted the woman's look of dread as she turned and slowly walked out the door.

Sighing, she crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly and looked out the large window. There was no way she could bring herself to meet her kidnapper for dinner; to dine with the man who had stolen her away from her father and their quiet little town.

She reached her hand up to her face, wiping away a tear when she heard what sounded like a roar. Eyes widening in realization, she ran to twist the locks on the door, scrambling away when she heard footsteps drawing near.

With a loud bang, the door shook. She gasped, fear shooting through her body. "Open the door!" The man growled, hitting the door again.

"NO!" She screamed, frantically searching the room for somewhere to hide. _Bang_. She threw herself underneath the large bed.

The door shook again and from her hiding spot she could just make out a crack that had appeared in the doorframe. "Dinner was not a request! Open the door!" _Bang_. Another crack.

There was a split second of silence and then she heard the unmistakable sound of the knob unlocking and then to her horror, the door creaked open. He took a few steps forward and then Christine could see his shiny black shoes in front of the bed. She gulped.

"I don't practically enjoy games of hide and seek, so I suggest you show yourself." His voice was eerily calm. It was somehow worse.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest; her breathing shallow.

"Where is that brave little girl who saved her father?" He taunted her, walking around the room. "Was that act of bravery just a fluke, huh?" She started inching herself out from underneath the bed as quiet as she possible could. "Are you really just a coward?"

His back was to her now, looking towards the balcony. She jumped up from her hiding spot and bolted for the door, but screamed when she felt his hands grab her roughly around her waist and throw her onto the bed.

He sat on her legs, pinning her hands on either side of her head. "Let me go!" She cried, struggling against him.

"So you can run off again?" He chuckled darkly, his golden eyes inquisitive as they stared down at her. "I guess you are more of a coward then…"

"The only coward here is you!" She spat, wincing when his grip tightened on her wrists. "You kept an old man prisoner for no reason!"

"He came into my home uninvited. I had every right!" He growled, leaning down until his face was less than a foot from hers.

"You had _no_ right! You could have just as easily thrown him out. But no, you imprison him and then take me instead, against my will!" She yelled.

"You came willingly!" He hissed. "I didn't force you to take your father's place, you volunteered!"

"It's not like I had a choice! I didn't deserve to lose my freedom this way! My father wouldn't have lasted much longer; he would have died in there. I wasn't about to leave him with someone like _you._ "

"Someone like me? What exactly am I mademoiselle?" He leaned down further, his weight suffocating. He whispered, his lips tickling her ear, making her shiver. "Am I a kidnapper? A monster? A murderer? Or am I a man?" He bent his head down and kissed her neck.

Christine shivered, her whole body shaking. She fought to keep her voice even. "You are all those things and worse, but you can not claim to be a true man. A true man would never result to such horrible measures! They wouldn't hold an old man hostage or force a woman to eat with said kidnapper. What in the world could possibly make me want to dine with and stare at the man responsible for my fear and hatred. You have taken everything possible from me. My family, my life, my freedom. Why not just take my womanhood? You seem so willing. Go ahead, take it!" She screamed the last part, her voice going hoarse. "Make me like you - an empty shell, emotionless and uncaring. Make me regret being born…. you're already off to a good start."

She was breathing hard, tears rolling down her face.

He sat up, staring down at her, his face expressionless. "I've underestimated you it would seem." He let go of her, sliding off the bed and took a few steps back. "There are many reasons to fear me, but I can most ardently assure you that _that_ is not one of them. You are no longer obligated to attend dinner tonight or any other night unless you decide to join me. Goodnight." He nodded, glancing down at her, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

Sitting up, she stared at the door, shocked at what had transpired. It had frightened her immensely when he had been on top of her, fearing the worst. She touched her neck where he'd kissed her, trying to wipe away the memory of it with her sleeve. He had stopped though… she couldn't fathom the reason why.

She didn't have to eat with him and if she was careful, maybe she wouldn't even have to see his face at all! She would avoid him as much as possible. _A big palace like this,_ she thought, _that shouldn't be too hard._

Getting up, she wandered aimlessly around the room until she found a small door between the window and her bed. She opened the door, peeking her head inside. A claw foot tub sat at the farthest end of the small room, a washbasin and jug to her right, and a large white-framed mirror hung on the wall opposite the washbasin.

Walking into the room, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in several different places and her curls had gone almost completely limp. She had tear stained cheeks and red eyes, and her dress... _Oh her dress!_ There was dirt all over her dress, not to mention it was torn in several places and very wrinkled. She took a towel that hung on the wall and poured water from the jug onto it.

The water was cold on her skin as she wiped her face and then tried, mostly in vain, to remove the dirt stains from her dress. A strange thought occurred to her then. Sitting the towel in the basin, she walked out of the washroom and over to the large silver stained wardrobe on the other side of the bed.

The wardrobe was empty when she opened it, except for a white robe that hung in the corner. Pulling it off the hanger, she rubbed the paisley white satin between her fingers. It was very beautiful she had to admit. She took a minute to undress from her tattered clothes, laying the dress and her cloak on the sofa, and then slipped into the robe, tying the white ribbon near her waist. Ruffles cascaded down from the waist to the hem of the robe that just barely touched the floor.

It felt like heaven; the softest fabric to ever touch her skin. She would have to figure out what to do for clothing in the morning. Perhaps one of the servants could tell her if there was any fabric and sewing material in this place. She wasn't the best when it came to making clothes, but it shouldn't be too hard to make a plain and simple dress...It wasn't like she had anyone to impress.

Pulling back the sheets on the bed, she slipped in between the covers, and slowly fell into a deep restless sleep.

* * *

 **xXx**

 **.**

Christine awoke to stomach pains in the middle of the night. Having had a light breakfast the day before, she hadn't thought to eat anything before she had rushed after her father. With the moonlight streaming through the room she got up and lit a candle on her nightstand. Readjusting her robe, so it fit more modestly, she grabbed the candle and slipped out of the room.

The hall was darker than she had expected, the candle only letting her see a few feet in front of her. Touching the wall with her fingertips, she felt her way down the hall until the wall opened up into the large staircase.

She took the stairs slowly, holding onto the rail with one hand. Upon reaching the bottom step she stopped- she had no idea where the kitchen was. She took a few tentative steps forward looking down the corridors on either side of her before choosing one at random.

The first set of doors she came upon opened into a large ballroom. Making a mental note to explore the room more thoroughly in the morning, she shut the doors and made her way further down the hallway. The next room was an office of some sort and the one after it a washroom, but none of the doors she opened led to the kitchen.

From hall to corridor and corridor to hall she went, but still she could not find the kitchen. She was rounding yet another hallway when she collided into a short figure. Two startled screams sounded through the hallway. Holding up the candle, she recognized the blonde girl who had led her to her father.

"You gave me quite a fright, mademoiselle!" the girl chuckled nervously.

"I could say the same." Christine said, slightly breathless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." The girl said. "I thought I heard a noise and came to investigate. I'm Meg Giry by the way."

"Christine Daaé."

They stood there for a few minutes in awkward silence when Christine's stomach growled unappreciatively. "I'm sorry," she frowned, "but could you please show me where the kitchen is. I fear my stomach may attack me if I do not find something to eat soon."

"Oh, of course." She grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her down the dark hallway. "You wouldn't find it over here. I hate to tell you this, but you took quite a detour to end up over here."

"Sorry, but I didn't get the chance to find out where it was when I was being dragged through the palace." She said, unable to hide her bitterness. Meg didn't answer her; just let them down several more corridors before finally walking into the large open kitchen.

The first thing Christine noticed was the large fireplace taking up half of one wall alone; easily several inches taller than her. On the other end of the wall stood an iron stove and a wooden icebox and in the center of the room was a large sturdy table surrounded by an assortment of chairs and stools.

"Go ahead and take a seat, I'll make you some soup." Meg said, motioning to the table. She took a seat opposite the stove, watching Meg gather supplies. "In the morning, if you'd like, I'll give you a tour of the place. Although it may take a couple of days to show you everything."

"I'd like that." Christine yawned into her hand. "I have nothing but time it would seem."

"It really is a gorgeous palace. I'll have to show you the grand ballroom. It's absolutely stunning! The entire room looks as if it was dipped in gold!" Meg gushed.

Christine listened with mild interest as Meg discussed different rooms within the palace. She felt guilty for finding herself curious and upset when she realized just how much time she would have to thoroughly explore the place. She blocked out Meg's words, afraid she would be enthralled by them and thought instead of how she could politely decline a tour of the place.

Finishing the soup, Meg poured some into a bowl and placed it in front of her. Christine dipped her spoon in the thick red soup, blowing on the steaming liquid to cool it down before taking a small sip. Tomato and basil, she guessed, taking another bite. "This is delicious," she said between bites.

Meg smiled. "I'm glad you like it. It's my favorite." She sat down opposite Christine. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think it's a good idea to wear you dressing gown downstairs. There are some male servants throughout the palace and while most of them are honorable, there are at least two that you would not want to run into at this time of night."

Uncomfortable, Christine shifted in her seat, readjusting her robe. "I appreciate your concern, but my only dress is torn and filthy. I didn't really have much of a choice - which is something I wanted to discuss with you and the others. Do you perhaps have some materials I could use to make a dress?"

"I'll do you one better," Meg smiled, "We'll make some dresses for you!"

Christine's eyes widened, "Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that. I'm perfectly capable of making my own clothing." _Even if they aren't the prettiest garments…_

"No, I would love to do it and I'm sure the others will too. It gets boring doing the same thing everyday and it would be wonderful to have something different to do for a change. You can borrow a few of my dresses for the time being."

"I really couldn't -," She started.

"Yes you could! It's all set, so no arguments!" Meg grinned, pointing a finger at her in mock anger. "I'll bring up some of my dresses for you in the morning."

Christine smiled, grateful. "Thank you."

Meg looked down at her hands, her smile faltering. "It's the least I could do seeing as I'm the reason you're in this mess."

"You're the reason my father is safe." Christine placed her hand on top of Meg's. "I was worried sick about my father and you lead me to him. I would have been crazy with worry if I knew my father was here and I was unable to get to him."

"I'm not." Meg stated sadly. "When your father knocked on the door and tried to find solace here, my mother tried to stop him. She tried to turn him away, but I didn't want him to get sick and so I let him in against my mother's wishes and that's when Erik attacked him."

 _Erik?_ "You did what I would have done. I don't blame you. You tried to take care of my father and I can't thank you enough for that. So please don't blame yourself."

They talked into the wee hours of the morning, both blissfully unaware of the shadow that watched them in the darkness.

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 **Thanks for reading! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

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 **Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I'm so glad you guys like my story so far. I'll try not to disappoint!**

 **I have a beta now. (Yay!)** **WonderingLotte** **—she's amazing! She's a reincarnated English teacher….unless she is actually one—I didn't ask. (She's that good). It's amazing how you can read and re-read your story a hundred times and think there's no problems and then someone else can just glance at it and spot a million mistakes.**

 **Sorry it was posted a little late. It may be posted every other week on occasion, but I'll stick to posting once a week as much as possible.**

 **:)**

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 **Chapter Three**

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True to Meg's word, when Christine awoke in the morning she found three slightly worn dresses and a set of undergarments laying out on the ottoman in front of the chaise. The first two were long brown dresses with a modest neckline and a button up bodice, but the third dress was a muted coral with black velvet trim and a much lower neckline

She disrobed and made quick work of putting on the undergarments and the coral dress. It was a lightweight fabric, meant to be worn more during the hot summer months. The sleeves were loose and buttoned up just short of her wrists and the hem was several inches too short, stopping just above her ankles. _At least my riding boots cover up my ankles,_ she thought as she slipped into them.

In the bathroom she stared at the mess she called hair. She wrapped a piece of hair tightly around her finger, frowning when it unwound and laid flat against her head. Brushing her hair into a bun, she held it with one hand, searching the washroom for something to hold it in place. Finding nothing, she took the ribbon from around her waist and tied it into a bow around her hair.

Walking out of the bathroom, she started folding the dresses that laid on the sofa when a knock sounded on the door. "Come in." She said, expecting Meg. "I'll be ready in a minute. Just let me finish folding these clothes. Thank you again for letting me borro-," turning around, she froze.

Standing just inside the door was the masked man, Erik. He watched her, his face curious.

Christine clutched one of the dresses in her shaking hand. What did he want with her? What was he going to do? _Why is he staring at me?_ She tried to control her rapid breathing before she spoke. "What are you doing in here?"

"I knocked on the door and you invited me in, don't you remember?" He smirked.

Taken aback by his almost playful demeanor, Christine frowned, feeling irritated. "Believe me monsieur, I would not have done that if I knew it was you. I thought you were someone else."

"Ah yes, Meg Giry. She was on her way to meet you when I ran into her. When she told me she was giving you a tour I just couldn't resist taking over. Who better to give a tour of _The Garnier_ than the Master of the estate himself."

Christine's mouth dropped open in a very unladylike manner. "You? I-I…. no, No! I only agreed to the tour when Meg said she would show me around. I'm not going with you."

"You would be well advised to remember that you are not my guest." Erik's eyes darkened. "I don't remember asking you _if_ you wanted a tour.

Her hand tightened into a fist. She wanted to say no and slam the door in his face, but then she remembered how he had acted the night before; how it had frightened her. "Fine." She bit back bile. "Let's get this over with."

"Wonderful." Erik said, extending his arm to her.

Staring at his arm as if it were a snake about to bite, she stomped past him, ignoring his outstretched arm.

"We'll start with the East wing." Erik said, catching up to her in the hall. "I figured I would start by showing you some of the ballrooms and move onto the studies and then maybe…" He talked on, ignoring Christine's sulking.

 _What a pretentious man,_ Christine thought. _I'm his prisoner, but yet he parades me around as if I'm his guest: first dinner, now a tour? What game is he playing at?_

She followed him down the stairs, recognizing the hallway she'd been in the night before. He stopped in front of a set of large double doors. She eyed him suspiciously as he pulled open one of the doors and motioned for her to go into the room.

Breathtaking. That was the only word to describe it. A row of chandeliers hung on either side of the ballroom. Large columns held up the tall ceiling and the sunlight that streamed through cast the room in a golden light. At the end of the long room was a golden fireplace with a mural painted above. The mural was a mix of dark colors, a woman in red faced a hill where a figure shrouded in black stood beckoning to her as another man in blue held her wrist, trying to pull her away.

"I always thought they were lovers." Erik stood next to her, looking at the painting.

"The woman and the gentleman in blue?" She asked, immediately biting her tongue. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to her captor.

"No, the woman and the man in black. It looks as if he's calling to his love as the man in blue is forcing her away," he said. "I always resented him for forcing them apart."

"Perhaps he's saving her." She said, unable to help herself. "The way she's staring at him…. it almost looks as if she's hypnotized by the man in black and the way he's beckoning to her, it's not how I imagine one would call to their lover."

"You think so?" He sounded skeptical. "I wouldn't say the blue gentleman was her lover- not the way he's holding her wrist. I'd say it's a sign of dominance– that he's making her leave the one she truly loves."

"Maybe…" she bit her lip. "But by the way the man on the hill is covered all in black and how he hides his face, it makes me think he's trying to hide something. Perhaps he is Death, come to take her away, and the only way to save her from Death is to force her away." When she spoke again, her thoughts wandered. "Sometimes you have to do what you think is right, even when your loved ones may not understand. Even if it means they stop loving you, at least you know that they're safe…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes started to water.

Something flashed in Erik's eyes. "Or perhaps it is only a painting." He walked towards a set of doors in the corner of the room that she hadn't noticed before. "This is one of my favorite rooms. I find that it tends to reveal one's _true_ self."

Her eyebrows arched in confusion as she walked in the room. She started when she saw her own reflection staring back at her. Mirrors. The circular room was full of mirrors. Everywhere she looked she saw her reflection; even the ceiling was made up of shards of different mirrors. "I don't understand…" she said, looking up at Erik's reflection.

"It's simple really. When you look in the mirror, you see your reflection and everything you're feeling is displayed for you to see. The longer you stare at yourself, the more aware you become of yourself. If that makes any sense…"

When she turned to look at him, he was gone. Confused, she turned back to the mirror and found his reflection staring at her. "Every line, every wrinkle, every curve... they start showing up, more visible than before. Mirrors are cruel…" she whirled around, his voice came from her right. Another reflection. "They're brutally honest, yet you never see your actual self, just a reflection. They lie and tell the truth all at once." She felt his hand suddenly on her shoulder and she gasped, quickly backing away.

He stared at her, his eyes holding a mischievous glint.

She stomped out of the room, her blood boiling. "Just because I am your prisoner, that does not give you the right to play such cruel tricks on me!" She whirled around to face him. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Now where would be the fun in that?" He smirked.

Her jaw clenched. "You-," she started, fully prepared to call him every foul and horrendous name possible, but was cut off by the arrival of one of the servants.

"Master Erik, I hate to intrude, but Madame Giry requests your presence in the library. There seems to have been a small incident with one of the restorations."

"It better not have been any of the Frescobaldi." He stormed out after the servant, leaving Christine to stare at his retreating figure.

 _What now?_ She thought. Would he be mad if she just disappeared from the room? He hadn't told her to stay. She walked slowly out of the ballroom, keeping a wary eye out for Erik, as she made her way down the hallway.

With him gone she might be able to enjoy exploring the palace. She past a few doors, before opening one at random and found another, much smaller, ballroom. Similar to the one before, the room was cast in a golden light from the large windows that covered the entire wall in front of her. She walked over to one of the windows and pushed open a glass door that led out onto a large balcony.

She let out a loud breath, relaxing in the cool breeze that gently tickled her cheeks. It felt good to be outside, in the open with the sun warming her cold skin. No matter how large the palace was, inside she couldn't help but feel claustrophobic.

In front of her a large set of trees stood in the distance. To her right she could just barely make out part of the wrought iron gate peeking around the corner of the palace, and to her left she could see a garden and what she thought was a shed or stables of some kind.

She suddenly felt a stab of guilt. Her horse! How could she have forgotten about her horse? She took the steps on the side of the balcony, two at a time, walking quickly to the large stable.

Opening the stables doors, she walked swiftly inside the rather neat, if not smelly room. Several horses peeked at her through their stalls, watching her curiously as she made her way down the long aisle. Spotting her horse near the end, she ran over to her and buried her head in the horse's long white mane. "Oh Lotte!" She cried, gripping the horse's hair tightly in her hands. "I'm so sorry I forgot about you."

Lotte nipped at her hair affectionately, completely oblivious to Christine's growing tears. "I want to go home." She sobbed, her tears flowing freely. "Oh Lotte, what have I done!" Her body shook uncontrollably; she was afraid. He was a monster. A horrible monster who taunted her with his smirks and fake acts of civility. She wanted to regret being here, to take back her word and go home, but she couldn't bring herself to regret saving her father from her horrible fate.

Caught up in her tears, she failed to hear the sound of approaching footsteps until they stopped directly behind her. "Pretty girls shouldn't cry."

"Oh!" Christine stumbled away from the voice, glancing up at the new figure. It was a man, at least twice her age, if not more so. His greasy gray hair hung loosely around his rounded face.

He smiled at her, revealing a row of yellowing teeth. "Didn't mean to frighten you." Christine didn't believe him. She felt herself slowly backing away from his greedy gaze.

"I-It's all right." She tried and failed to keep her voice even. "I should probably get back to the p–palace. " He blocked her when she attempted to step around him.

"Leaving so soon, pretty girl?" He reached out a hand towards her, laughing when she flinched away from him.

"Please. I really must get back."

"Why such the hurry? Could do with some company. It does get awfully lonely out here." He leered.

She stiffened. "Erik is waiting for me."

The effect was instantaneous. He stiffened, his face dropping its sneer as he hastily backed away from her. "You best get back then." Did she imagine the fear that flashed in his eyes? _No_ , she thought, _he frightens everyone._

Christine rushed past him as quickly as she could, the smell of alcohol assaulting her nose. She walked for several minutes until the stables were out of her sights, before stopping to catch her breath on a small stone bench.

Looking around she found herself in a garden, or what had once been a garden. Overgrown shrubs surrounded her in a semicircle, yellow weeds peeking out from the brown earth, and in the center of the garden was a large marble fountain. Even cracked and covered in spider webs, she could tell the fountain had once been an object of great grandeur.

Perhaps in the springtime, if the weather permitted, she could spruce up the gardens. Take out the weeds, plant some flowers and try to clean up the fountain. To have a place outside the palace walls to sit and think the day away would be lovely. _Yes,_ she smiled, _that_ _would be quite lovely._

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 **:)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Anything in particular you think may happen in the story? Or want to happen?**

 **I really do appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and followers I've received, it means a lot to me and gives me that push to want to keep going. (Like the energizer bunny…. just keeps going and going and going).**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you again for the awesome feedback! I've said it before, but I really do appreciate your feedback/favorites/follows. I can't tell you how happy I am to see the positive response my story has received so far. Thank you!**

 **I'm actually pretty happy with how this chapter turned out…. although I'm going to ask you to ignore my horrible lyrics. (You'll know it when you see it.) I feel really embarrassed about writing them, but it made sense when I was writing them! To be honest, I probably never of taken this chapter in that direction if I knew I had to write lyrics** ** _*Shutter.*_** **So please be kind, I dislike poetry and it obviously shows :(**

 **But the lyrics are meant to be to the tune/similar to: "You'll Never Walk Alone, from the movie Carousal and/or Too La Roo La Roo La, my favorite version is sung by the wonderful Bing Crosby.**

 **Sorry for the long ramble!**

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 **Chapter Four**

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Christine sat behind her father's display case in the music shop, her fingers tapping in rhythm against the glass. It was another slow day. She watched the grey sky, listening to the rain's quiet down pour. Thunder rumbled menacingly, a flash of lightening lit up the darkening sky. Suddenly the door burst open, a strong gust of wind making her shiver.

Then she saw him, his figure blocking out the door entirely- her only exit, she was trapped. He stalked towards her as she quickly backed into the wall behind her.

"Please!" She begged, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. "Please leave me alone!" He ignored her, reaching out a gloved hand to grasp her wrist tightly, and then yanked her up roughly.

"No!" Christine screamed, bolting up right in bed. It took her several minutes to calm her overly beating heart, her breath came out in small gasps as she put her head in her hands _. Oh, if only it were a dream!_ She wanted to cry, but she knew it wouldn't do her any good. She would only be even more tired and miserable than she already felt.

She rubbed her wrist where the imaginary hand had grasped it and looked out at the darkened sky. Rain tapped lightly against her window, racing down the glass and onto the now slick surface of her balcony.

For the second night in a row, Christine lit the candle on her nightstand and slid out of the silken sheets. She tip toed lightly to the wardrobe and slipped the robe on over the nightgown Meg had let her borrow.

Once she was sure the robe was secured tightly around her waist, she walked out into the dark hall once again. She wasn't quite sure what she was hoping to accomplish by wandering the halls at this time of the night. There was a small part of her that wished she'd see Meg again; she hadn't seen her at all yesterday. She knew with certainty that if she had to stay here, then at least she could have a friend. It wouldn't do to just lock herself away in her room, wasting away to nothing; she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Although she couldn't see what type of satisfaction he could possibly get out of holding her prisoner.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she paused, when she heard music floating through the darkened hallway. She followed the music down the long corridor, intrigued by the lovely tune, and stopped in the large doorway of what appeared to be a library of sorts. All around the room were cases full of books; top to bottom, cramped into corners and overflowing on the only desk and chair in the library, but that wasn't what caught her attention—it was the large piano that stood directly in the center of the room as Erik's hands moved furiously over the keys, slowing down every so often before speeding back up to his infuriating speed.

It was beautiful music, there was no doubt about that, but what struck Christine was how angry and sad the music seemed. She'd heard music before that was meant to sound sad or make someone happy, but never before had she heard a piece that made her want to cry, to weep openly to the music that invoked so much emotion into her beating heart.

"It's rude to stand in doorways." Erik's voice floated over the music, breaking her from her trance as he continued to play.

Christine jumped, clenching her jaw. "It's rude to wake people when they're trying to sleep." She countered, walking up to the side of the large piano.

His lips twitched, as if he were about to smile, as he continued to play his haunting song. "My apologies."

She bit her lip, scrutinizing the visible side of his face for any sign of sarcasm in his expression, but was unable to find any expression at all. _It's as if he's a statue_ , she thought, _cold and unmoving._

"I could also point out that it is rude to stare." He glanced up for a second, his face turning coy.

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "I was only enjoying in your song, but I don't recognize the composer. Who composed it?" She said, curving the truth only slightly.

Erik's smile was vainglorious, if not a little conceited. "Why you're looking at him."

"You wrote this?"

"You sound surprised." He teased. "What? You think someone like me is unable compose beautiful music?"

Christine held back the anger she felt bubbling it's way to the surface. "No, I never said that. I think it's very beautiful indeed—there's no denying that, but It's so sad and yet angry at the same time. I feel as if I want to fall on the floor crying and yet at the same time I feel as if I could just starting throwing these books on the shelves clear across the room." * _What must someone have been through to be able compose music like this…_

The music suddenly shifted to something much lighter and airy. Although it was sill filled with a similar sadness, she didn't find it held any anger with the notes.

"How about this?" He lifted his only visible brow. "How does this song make you feel?"

She tilted her head, listening. "It's much lighter. Almost as if you've just accepted the way life has thrown itself at you." As the music progressed she was reminded of a song her father had sung to her when she'd been little. "It sounds similar to a lullaby my father wrote."

"I doubt that." Erik frowned.

She bit her tongue, her anger still bubbling near the surface. "It does," She said, and hesitantly reached out her thin hand across the piano to play a similar tune one octave higher then normal.

He stopped rather abruptly and watched her hand with curiosity. "Play it." He said, sliding over to one end of the piano bench for Christine to sit on the other end.

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bench, as far from him as she could sit. Although it did nothing to help the shiver she felt go through her body at being this close to her captor.

Setting her hands lightly on the keys, she began playing the song. She worked her fingers over each note as smoothly as she could, holding her breath as she made her way through the song that was ingrained in her mind.

Her fingers only stumbled once over the keys when she felt Erik lean towards her. "Does the song have any meaning to it?"

"Some." She said, focusing on the notes. "It was a lullaby my father wrote for me when I was little. I used to be afraid when it would storm, so every time it was thundering and lightening outside my father would play the song on his violin, or sing to me when his hands were too tired from playing."

 _Far up in heaven, there's an angel who's crying._

 _His tears are falling far down below…_

 _But there's someone who loves him, who holds him tight,_

 _and keeps him safe._

 _Just remember there's someone to watch over you,_

 _to hide you from the storm and tears above._

She sang part of the song; blinking back the tears she felt swelling in her eyes. "The lyrics aren't very good. I wrote them when I was eight, but my father, I think he was happy that I had found a love for music like he had. He spent that next week praising me for writing something as silly as that, but even with the horrible lyrics, they stuck." She smiled sadly. "Come to think of it, I'd say he sung that song to me whenever I was sad or hurt. It just made me feel better. I sung that song the first night I was locked…" Her fingers fumbled over the keys, she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Glancing up at him from the corner of her eyes, she found his expression to be uncharacteristically kind. "You have a beautiful voice Christine. Your father trained you very well."

"Thank you." She said surprised, dropping her guard. "I was hoping to audition for the Royal Opera when my father returned from his audition. I wanted to be an Opera singer." She felt a tear fall onto her cheek. All that training she had been through, all those hours of practicing until it was perfect, what had been the point? All of it had been in vain, for now she would never be able to sing for them. Erik was the last person who would ever hear her sing. No longer would she be able to sing during gatherings or in front of her friends, and selfishly she thought, _I would never be able to receive praise from my father again._

With the tears that were about to brim over, she quickly said goodnight and fled swiftly from the room, unaware of the sadness that flashed in Erik's eyes, and for the first time— regret.

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 **xXx**

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Christine sat on one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen listening to Meg's dressmaking disaster story, with mild interest as she slowly ate the tomato soup in front of her.

It was late afternoon, the sun filtered through the narrow-slit windows, basking the girls in the sun's warmth. When Christine had finally awoken from her sleep, she had made quick work of changing back into the coral dress, and was wandering the halls when Meg had found her. They were touring the servant's quarters when Christine's stomach had grumbled angrily.

"…And then after all the trouble of making the dress, when I stepped into the gown and went to tighten it, both of the sleeves fell off!" Meg said dramatically, waving her hands around.

"You have much more patience then I do!" Christine laughed, pushing aside her now empty bowl. "I would have given up after the first attempt. I've never had the temper for dressmaking.

"Oh I don't either!" Meg smiled. "You should hear the things I mutter under my breath anytime I try to make a dress. I've gone to bed plenty of times without supper because of the things my mother has heard."

Christine smiled, her thoughts wandering back to the garden from the night before. "How long has it been since the garden has been taken care of?" She asked, remembering the garden from yesterday.

"I'm not sure. It was like that ever since I can remember. Why do you ask?"

"I was hoping once the weather warmed up I could fix it up. Do you think that would be okay? I'm not going to get thrown in the dungeon for fixing it, am I? " She only half-joked.

Meg shook her head. "I don't think that would be a problem. I'll double check with my mother during supper tonight." The girls cleaned up the small mess they'd made on the table and shuffled out of the room. "I'll bring up your food tonight and let you know what she said."

Saying their goodbyes for the time being, Christine wandered back outside into the overgrown garden. Pursing her lips, she eyed the overgrown shrubs disdainfully. She wandered over to one of the smaller plants and bent down on one knee to pull at the weeds that peeked out of the earth. It took her a few tries, but upon being successful, she pulled out more and more weeds until her hands started to cramp.

Standing, Christine noticed a long grey stick stuck in the middle of the shrubs. Grabbing the stick tightly with both hands, she pulled sharply on it, and gasped in sudden pain. Not only did the stick not move from its spot between the hedges, her right hand had been cut from a piece of the broken wood.

She nursed her hand gingerly. It was a small cut, nothing serious, but it had still hurt quite a bit when she had tried to pull out the stick. Walking back towards the palace, she resolved herself into finding some gloves to better protect her hands the next time she decided to work on the garden.

She was just shutting the glass door to the deck when she saw Erik rounding the corner. There was a single moment of utter silence, before his eyes widened in fury.

He stormed towards her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was just in the garden." She admitted, stunned by his sudden anger.

He grabbed her wrists tightly in hands, shaking them. "What did I say about leaving? I said you were never to leave the palace." He seethed, enunciating each word. "Did you think you could take advantage of Erik's kindness? Did you think I'd actually let you go?"

Shaking off the fear she felt, Christine stood her ground. "I only went to the garden! I wasn't going to leave."

"Right," He growled. "Like you wouldn't leave Erik the first chance you got."

"Like you wouldn't drag me back here if I tried." She challenged him. "You said never to leave the palace, and as far as I'm concerned, I haven't. The gardens are still within the gates of the palace."

He released her wrists, but his eyes were still full of fury. "I may be a lot of things," Christine continued, "but a liar isn't one of them. I have yet to break a promise and I'm not about to break this one—no matter how horrible and unfair this promise may be." She walked towards the hall doors, stopping suddenly at Erik's cold words.

"It may be the truth now, but I know for a fact that people's views often change, and never for the better. I would advise you to be more careful in the future when it comes to obeying the rules I've set forth. Leniency is not something I give to people who break my rules. I have no problem throwing you back into the cellars." His voice was quiet and eerily calm. "Just remember the only reason you are here and not in the cellars is because my servants have requested it, and even then their request has come at a price. So I suggest that you think a little more cautiously in the future, if not for you sake, then hopefully for theirs."

She felt a shiver run up her spine as she swallowed hard. It took her a good minute before she worked up the courage to leave the room with her head held high, faking the bravery she didn't have.

His words had scared her, not so much that she feared for her life, but in the way he'd inadvertently threatened the servants- the people who had devoted their life to taking care of him. Only now did Christine start to wonder how they came to be in his service. Did they come willingly, knowing how he came to be this way? Or had they been hired under the pretense that they were going to work for a wealthy bachelor, only to found out the truth after it was too late?

This was a mystery that intrigued her. One she hoped Meg would be willing to share and despite everything that happened, she would find out about him. She would discover the mystery of Erik.

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 **:) Thanks for reading!**

 **Forgives and forgets? Until finals are over the chapters might be a little sporadic, but I will post as often as I can, I promise! Can we all just agree to blame my professors for giving me loooonnnnggg essays to do? (I'm talking ten-fifteen pages essays here! It hurts to even write about,** ** _Ouch_** **see, it hurt to even mention it.) Can I have Erik try to dissuade him?**


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